Clear, cold. The flare of a satellite is an omen: the sun will rise. CERN has so far failed to birth a black hole. Random chirps.
2008
September 9, 2008
Thunderstorms since before dawn. Light comes in sudden, brief installments that freeze the raindrops falling from the roof—eyes in the dark.
September 8, 2008
In the chill of dawn, sounds come as if from a great distance: wood thrush chirping, crow calls, wren twitter, the Monday whine of traffic.
September 7, 2008
Still, clear, 50°F. The sunlight spreading into the treetops is noisy with bluejays calling “Hey! Hey!”—or more likely, “Acorns! Acorns!”
September 6, 2008
Hundreds of miles to the southeast, a hurricane churns. I sit in the dark listening to scattered rain, a faint rustle of a breeze, crickets.
September 5, 2008
The brown towers of dock seed below the railing tremble in sequence: a warbler in its fall plumage, a safe and anonymous greenish yellow.
September 4, 2008
At half-light, the scattered calls of migrant wood thrushes, dropping into the trees from their all-night flights and looking for breakfast.
September 3, 2008
The rending of a limb or small tree down in the hollow, followed by… nothing. A phoebe sings a few bars of his old song and falls silent.
September 2, 2008
In from the porch, I open a window to hear the crickets. Golden light spreads across the field. A series of heavy thumps under the floor.
September 1, 2008
A cool, clear autumn morning. Every few minutes, another alarm call breaks the silence: pileated woodpecker. Bluejays. A frantic squirrel.
5:00 am; the stars are bright…. August 31, 2008
5:00 am; the stars are bright. Orion straddles the ridge, and as I watch, a meteor streaks from his belt. A small, dark moth circles my face.
August 30, 2008
Out of the darkness and fog before dawn, a sudden yelp. Only when it moves farther off am I able to place it: a raccoon. The newest tenant.
August 29, 2008
Rain and fog. Nuthatches, a wood pewee, the liquid song of a winter wren. Behind me, loud thumps from some large animal under the house.
August 28, 2008
Steady drizzle after three weeks of drought. The quiet, continuous insect trill in the grass sounds the way I feel—however that may be.